


Falling, Such Was Our Calling

by dfotw



Series: Kings Among Runaways [3]
Category: Hellboy (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, M/M, Tony Stark has no brain-to-mouth filter, World Domination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-29
Updated: 2012-06-29
Packaged: 2017-11-08 20:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dfotw/pseuds/dfotw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/425883">Kings Among Runaways</a> and <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/436690">Never Let The Bastards Get Us Down</a>.</p><p>“The Nine Realms are teetering on the edge of a massive change and we can be the ones who give it a push in the right direction. We have failed before, both of us, but together… what can’t we achieve, together?”</p><p>Or,</p><p>Part III of the Avengers/Hellboy villain crossover you never knew you wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wait

**Author's Note:**

> Set immediately after the end of [Never Let The Bastards Get Us Down](http://archiveofourown.org/works/436690).
> 
> Unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine and mine alone.
> 
> Title from The Decemberists' song "On The Bus Mall".
> 
> It all started on [this Tumblr post](http://dfotw.tumblr.com/post/22800146474/spot-the-seven-differences-1-regretfully-only) and went downhill from there...

Loki had sat on the Golden Throne of Asgard, looked on Midgard as a conqueror, wielded the power of more magical artefacts than most people would ever know existed, and yet the moment he’d remember all his life was when Nuada Silverlance stepped away from him and looked on a Midgard swamped in darkness as far as the eye could see; he heard the elf’s sharp intake of breath as he looked at a nameless Midgardian city sank into chaos, and his heart felt too small for what he felt.

“It’s only temporary,” he felt compelled to explain, the old habit of putting down his magic that he’d thought forgotten. “But the humans weave such fragile webs… it wouldn’t take much more power to make it permanent.”

Nuada turned to look at him; he was barefoot and dressed in ill-fitting Midgardian clothes, carelessly leaning on his beloved weapon, and yet Loki (who had summoned his full battle armour the moment he regained control over his magic) still felt the urge to fidget.

No. Enough. That was the boy he once had been, not the man he was now. Now, they were equals.

Loki was expecting questions. He’d prepared enough facts, justifications, half-truths and lies to sink an army, but Nuada just turned away again to look into the darkness, the corner of his lips quirking up ever so slightly as he looked at the fire that had broken out in a distant street.

“It was very skilfully done, as it was bringing us here to witness it,” the elf said. “It cannot have been easy, John told me your incarceration was most strict.”

“John?” Loki’s throat felt tight; of course that Prince Nuada Silverlance of Clan Bethmoora wouldn’t lower himself to consort with a human, but a slim blade of ice and silver appeared between his fingers all the same.

“One of my captors… a most useful source of information.”

The knot on Loki’s throat loosened and he twirled the ice blade in his fingers; this John was nothing more than Selvig or Barton had been to him, then.

“Well?” Nuada asked; he stood on the edge of the roof, his feet flexing distractingly over the dirty concrete floor while the smoke-tinged wind whipped his hair around his face. “What now, my prince? I suppose you have something more in mind than this chaos, as magnificent as it is.”

Loki approached him cautiously. He’d expected to have to talk or trick the elf into keeping his company once he’d taken them out of Antarctica and into the inhabited parts of Midgard.

“Alas,” he said with a smile and an expansive hand gesture, “it is now time to bring your words from the past to mind and seek some hidden refuge. I have more hounds on my trail than these befuddled humans.”

He hadn’t meant to confess that. Not right away. Not until he was in a position of strength, able to demand Nuada’s help if it wasn’t offered freely. But the elf prince just grinned and Loki’s blood fizzled like it always did when he took his carefully-laid plans and threw them aside for a moment of recklessness.

“Hunters make the very worst preys, my prince,” Nuada said in a low voice. “And I, I happen to be a very skilled hunter. I dare those hounding you to find us if we don’t want to be found.”

***

They didn’t want to be found. Under Nuada’s instructions, Loki took them on a quick tour of three realms as they laid false trails, backtracked time and time again, and muddled their tracks -both physical and magical- well beyond recognition.

They came to rest, at last, on a small cave in a distant province of Svartálfaheimr. Nuada moved into the darkness to uncover a small container of witch-fire, and Loki was able to look around to see a few boxes covered in dust and an empty hearth; the elf gave a satisfied look to the place, then turned to his guest and bowed.

“Welcome, my prince. No ills may befall you while you stay under my roof.”

In spite of himself, Loki was charmed by the old-fashioned gesture, and smiled and bowed his head in return.

“Thank you, Nuada Silverlance. May your generosity be returned to you a thousandfold.”

The elf threw open one of the boxes and spread some massive silver furs in front of the still unlit heart.

“Sit,” he told Loki. “Food and drink will have to wait until I can go out hunting, I’m afraid, but fire and comfort we can and shall have.”

Loki folded himself down onto one of the furs and watched Nuada light a fire on the hearth with some dusty firewood that had been stored in a corner for Norns-knew how many years; the elf’s scarred hands moved quickly and his equally-scarred face looked serene and –dare he almost say it- happy.

“After so many years mired in Midgard’s filth, coming back to a magical realm is like a hot bath after a long hunt…” mused the elf.

Having lit the fire, Nuada stood up, stretched and unselfconsciously began to take off the ill-fitting Midgardian clothes.

Loki looked away at once, then caught himself doing so and scowled at the fire. He wasn’t the blush-prone youth he’d been once, the one who’d preferred to visit the communal bathhouse late at night to avoid the crude jokes of the warriors and the way his eyes inevitably tended to wander; he was older now, wearier, he’d seen things that would have made many lose their minds, and one shirtless elf prince wasn’t going to rattle his composure, no matter how many times he’d dreamt of those battle scars.

He looked up to see Nuada, now dressed in breeches and a loose shirt, taking a knife to his long hair; the yellowed ends came off in one slash and joined the pile of discarded clothing.

“Ah, what I would give for a bath,” Nuada said wistfully. “But no matter, there is a stream nearby and I will fetch water while I’m at it.” He crouched to rummage in a box, then stood up and looked around himself as if seeing the cave for the first time. “I do apologise, my prince, if these lodgings aren’t quite what you’re used to.”

Loki looked around the small cave, with its dusty wooden boxes and rough furs, and a half-maddened giggle escaped his lips; compared with the fall, The Other’s dungeons, the hideout Barton had arranged, the SHIELD prison, it was, if not home, the closest he’d come to in years.

“If you only knew…” he said, reining in on his outburst.

From the entrance to the cave, lance and hunting bag in hand, Nuada gave him a long look; for a moment, Loki thought the elf would say something, but he just shook his head (the blunt ends of his white hair brushing his collarbones) and left.

Loki waited just long enough to make sure he was alone before shooting to his feet.

The first thing he did was to sidle up to the cave entrance and look outside; he saw a wind-swept moor and Nuada’s slim figure moving almost invisibly between the massive granite boulders that dotted the landscape in what looked like a natural arrangement until Loki looked at it from the corner of his eye. Measuring the distance between the cave and the line of short trees that marked the presence of the stream and considering Nuada’s speed, Loki walked back inside, satisfied with the time he had.

If Nuada didn’t want his belongings examined, he should’ve known better than to leave Loki alone with them.

It only took a wave of his hand for all the dust to disappear, both for comfort and to avoid leaving revealing tracks, and then Loki set to work on the three large wooden boxes that were the cave’s sole furniture.

One was filled with more furs and also old clothes and worn boots, leather breeches and soft linen shirts kept between handfuls of dry leaves dipped in scented oil; Loki’s long fingers absolutely didn’t linger over the famed Alfheimr embroidery while he searched between the clothes and furs and then left everything as he had found it.

The second box was full of metalworking tools and dwarven gadgets, both whole and half-dismantled. Loki examined some of them, at a loss as to their function or workings, and wondered how Alfheimr’s heir had come to learn such a base (and yet –admittedly- useful) skill; Odin would have balked at the thought of one of his sons apprenticing in a profession that didn’t involve people hitting other people.

The third box held knives, bowls, some dusty food items and basic household equipment. Loki let the lid fall closed and looked around in irritation. Where were the keepsakes, the books, the bits and pieces of the Alfheimr court that even a prince in exile could be expected to carry with him? There was only so much he could learn from worn hunting knives and old linen shirts.

Nuada didn’t take long in returning; his hair was wet, his shirt clung to his torso, and he carried a water skin and a bulging hunting bag alongside with his spear.

“I bring food and drink,” the elf prince announced as he made his entrance; he looked over at the cave, then at Loki (sitting in front of the fire), and a corner of his lips quirked upwards. “I hope you found everything to your liking?”

Loki had last been caught snooping when he was barely two hundred years old and no taller than Odin’s knee; he gave Nuada his old smile (the one with the dimples, which had seen him out of more trouble than Thor had ever gotten himself into) and shrugged, secure in the knowledge that he had left no proof of his curiosity.

“I am most grateful for your hospitality. Is there something I might do to help you?”

Nuada shot him a quick, amused look from where he was hanging up the water skin and Loki had a brief second to wish his offer were accepted before the elf shook his head.

“I require no assistance this eve to make our meal, thank you. Are you thirsty? The waters from this stream should be more than enough to wash the taste of Midgard from your lips.”

“Yes, thank you. And they will suffice, too, for scrying. I confess I am curious to see how Midgard has taken to darkness.”

Nuada presented him with a ceramic bowl filled to the brim with water, and then sat in front of the fire and took some oddly-shaped mushrooms and three fishes (already gutted and cleaned) from his hunting bag.

The water tasted like magic, like starlight, like cold winter mornings and juniper. Loki drank deeply and wanted to laugh at himself and at anyone who thought he could have really made his home in a realm as devoid of magic as Midgard; whatever his true nature, he was a creature of magic and belonged somewhere said magic could still whisper in his bones.

And, speaking of magic… the water remaining in the bowl went still and began to reflect distant figures. Electricity and its derivatives seemed to have regained their foothold on Midgard, if the sirens and emergency vehicles were any indication, and some of the Avengers were on clean-up duty (Captain America leading civilians out of a fire-ravaged building, Black Widow coordinating a response centre, Hawkeye giving instructions from a high vantage point). Loki was both bemused and satisfied to realise that his disruption of Midgard’s artificial web had caused a thousand times more chaos and destruction than the Chitauri army had ever managed to do. That was an intriguing thought and worth pursuing it further…

“I want to know how the little bastard did it! He turned off things he had no way of reaching, things that were off any kind of fucking grid! Ultra-secure back-up generators for file-storage in Sweden, nuclear shelters, car batteries in the middle of the fucking dessert… that shouldn’t be possible, that little shit is nowhere near as powerful as powerful as a solar flare or a magnetic field inversion, he just doesn’t have that kind of reach… JARVIS, give me data, give Bruce data, give us fucking something to work with!”

Loki chuckled darkly at the sight of a frazzled Stark shouting hoarse obscenities in his workshop. So blind they were, even the brightest of them, seeing only the things the built and not the delicate tracery of energy that grew from those things like magic grew around better realms…

An answering chuckle echoed his and he felt the brush of Nuada’s spider-silk hair on his cheek as the elf looked over his shoulder.

“Most skilfully done,” the elf said again, straightening up before Loki could turn his head. “Food, my prince? That display of power and bringing us here must have taxed your reserves.”

“Yes, thank you.” The smell of roasted fish was mouth-watering. “And please, call me Loki. Not only does our situation not merit standing on ceremony, but the Norns know how many times the Allfather must have disowned me already.”

Nuada acknowledged this with a wry smile, and then gently knocked his bowl of water to Loki’s.

“Your name will be safe with me, Loki of Asgard.”

“And yours with me, Nuada Silverlance,” Loki answered, and took a drink; he was glad that paying attention to his tutors in the past was now serving him well in dealing with the odd mixture of pragmatism and old-fashioned ceremony that was the elf prince.

They ate in silence for a while, the only noise between them the crackling of the fire and the mournful calls of the whippoorwills outside, at least until Loki devoured his food and brought himself to ask the question that had been niggling at him for a while.

“You seem to understand a lot about magic…” Or, at least, enough to praise Loki’s handiwork and give him a second serving of fish without asking, which was more than Thor had ever accomplished.

“I am no sorcerer,” Nuada said with a shrug. “But my tutors made sure I had a basic understanding of all magics and their workings.”

“Your tutors? I thought…” That Nuada had picked up his knowledge of magic like that of metalwork, after being exiled; that such things weren’t taught, or were taught only to small, shy children who trailed after their mothers’ skirts instead of sneaking to watch the warriors training.

The elf prince shook his head.

“At Alfheimr, we don’t share Asgard’s… unique views on magic. Power is power, and there is no shame in wielding it, in whatever shape.” Nuada gave Loki a long look, yellow eyes glinting in the firelight. “No shame in belonging to any of the magical races, either.”

Loki’s fingers were curled around a blade of ice and magic before he was even conscious of having summoned it, but the elf in front of him didn’t react.

“I was naught but a prisoner, but my sister is Queen Regent of Clan Bethmoora and as such… you know how gossip flies between royal houses…” 

Nuada held out both his hands, palms up, fingers outstretched, in a gesture of defencelessness; even so, Loki didn’t like his odds if the conversation turned into a physical confrontation and kept silent, his heart beating fast inside his chest and his fingers curled around his blade.

“Jotun or Aesir, Loki of Asgard, it’s all the same to me, as it should be to all right-thinking creatures in the Nine Realms. What difference could it possibly make?”

Furious (with himself or with Nuada), Loki dropped the glamour that was such an integral part of him that it took a conscious effort to dismiss it; his skin turned blue and his eyes saw into the darkness as if it were as clear as daylight. Nuada’s gaze didn’t waver and his expression didn’t change.

“As beautiful in this form as you are in that of an Aesir,” said the elf softly; then he smiled. “Though I rather suspect neither my cooking nor the crockery will take kindly to the change in temperature.”

Loki looked down at the bowl of roasted fish and mushrooms he still held in one hand, slowly congealing under the cold of his touch, and the Aesir glamour settled over him like a well-worn garment; without looking up, he dismissed the ice blade and started eating again. 

No one had ever looked at him on this shape and not recoiled; he remembered Odin, Heimdall, even the Frost Giant whose touch had first revealed the truth to him… he remembered his own eyes in front of a looking glass…

“Of all the things Asgard has gotten wrong in their long and tainted history, this might yet be the worst I have seen,” said Nuada, breaking Loki out of his contemplation. “Oh, my prince, that you could see yourself as I see you…”

Loki gave the elf prince a look in which he couldn’t (and didn’t want to) conceal the suspicion; he’d had admirers in the past, full of honeyed words for as long as they thought they could turn the head of the Allfather’s youngest son that way, for as long as they thought they could conceal from their peers the wooing they would be ashamed to do in public. And Nuada had much to win by currying his favour now, on the run and hiding as he might be.

Once again, he had to wonder how much Nuada could see of his thoughts, for the elf gave him a wry look and stood up; he put his empty bowl aside (Loki was bemused to realise the elf prince had given him most of the food he’d prepared) and stood in front of a blank stretch of cave wall, staring intently at the rock texture. He raised one chalk-white hand, traced a few symbols in the air, and the rock shimmered to reveal a niche from where he took a dusty bottle.

Loki couldn’t help but frown, their previous discussion forgotten at the revelation of the hidden cache he’d missed in his search. What had been the symbols used to open it? What else had been hidden there? How many other similar niches were there in the cave? What else did Nuada know how to conceal?

“My last bottle of Vanr apple spirit… it has been a long day, I think we both deserve a drink.”

Loki finished his food in silence, then accepted the glass with the golden, fragrant liquid and savoured it in silence, sip by sip, while Nuada picked up the dirty bowls to wash them by the stream. The situation felt strangely domestic and Loki didn’t know whether to be more unnerved by this or by how loath he was to disturb it.

“Sleep now,” Nuada said some time later, after banking the fire, as he handed Loki more furs. “I’ll keep guard. Sleep.”

Loki curled up under the furs, in front of the hearth, but he did not sleep. Instead, he kept an eye on the figure sitting cross-legged by the cave entrance -fur over his shoulders, lance on his lap, eyes alert- and he chastised himself.

Seeing Nuada again had peeled back layers of age, experience and hurt to reveal the lost, anxious child he’d been once, the one who had fixated on the Bethmoora prince because he’d been his secret and his alone. But Loki didn’t want to be that child anymore; he couldn’t, not if he wanted to survive The Other’s hunt and come out the stronger for it. For that, he needed the ice-cold persona who’d seen him survive the fall and its consequences. There was no place in his life now for softness or wonder or sentiment.

Cradling these bitter thoughts, Loki fell into an uneasy sleep.

He managed to conceal the first time he woke from a nightmare (from a memory) under a rustling of furs and a fake cough, and he hoped the second time his gasp was lost under the calls of the whippoorwills, but the third time he woke (heart beating, panic clogging his throat), Nuada was crouching over him, a hand on his shoulder.

“Your rest is uneasy.” After stating the obvious, the elf sat back on his haunches, regarding Loki thoughtfully. “I will not ask what plagues you so, but I give you my word, Loki of Asgard, that no harm may befall you under my roof.”

_Can you stand up to The Other, if he finds me?_ Loki wanted to ask. _Can you stand up to he who guides The Other’s hand? Would you still guard me and my dreams if you knew what I have done, what I have brought upon me?_ But he said nothing, merely nodded and tried to calm his shuddery breathing while Nuada returned to his post.

After a moment, over the sound of the whippoorwills, he started to hear Nuada’s voice, pitched low in the darkness.

“Sleep a little here,  
Sleep peacefully,  
For you have nothing to fear…

"In the East the stag does not sleep,  
Nor does he cease his belling,  
The doe does not sleep  
And moans for her young fawn,  
The sprightly linnet does not sleep,  
The duck sitting on her eggs does not slumber...

“But sleep a little here,  
Sleep peacefully,  
For you have nothing to fear...  
Sleep and be blessed,  
For I shall watch over you...

“So sleep a little here,  
Sleep peacefully,  
For you have nothing to fear.”

Listening to the first lullaby he’d heard since declaring to Frigga (being a self-important three-hundred-year-old) that he was too old for them, Loki fell asleep again and, this time, had no dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Nuada sings is _Berçeuse de Grainne pour Diarmait (Grainne’s Lullaby for Diarmait)_ , by Hughes de Courson - O’Stravaganza. You can listen to it [here](http://dfotw.tumblr.com/post/26001098798/berceuse-de-grainne-pour-diarmait-grainnes).  
> ETA: inspired by [CandyassGoth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CandyassGoth/pseuds/CandyassGoth)'s comments, I made a manip of how Nuada would look in John Myers' cast-offs: [here](http://dfotw.tumblr.com/post/63794903089/headcanon-where-nuada-didnt-die-at-the-end-of-tga).  
> ETA II: the wonderful [alby_mangroves](http://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/pseuds/alby_mangroves) made the loveliest Loki/Nuada fanart, feast your eyes on it here: _[For I Shall Watch Over You](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4038253)_


	2. Plan

Loki woke feeling heavy-limbed and better rested than he’d felt since leaving Asgard. The fire in the hearth had been built up again, more firewood had been piled up in a corner of the cave, and Nuada had arranged a basin of cold water and some herbal-scented soap for him; there were even the makings of breakfast on top of one of the boxes (a few eggs and a linen bag full of loose tea).

It took a long moment of staring at all this before Loki could bring himself to make use of it; he wondered what it would take for him to willingly serve another like this, to put his princely hands to use to bring another being comfort. Even if he led an existence as precarious as Nuada’s, would he have welcomed a guest into his home so generously?

Oh, but what did it matter? He’d taken his decision last night, to choose survival over sentiment, and surely this was nothing but a distraction. He had to focus on what was important.

He washed, ate and summoned his full battle armour (except for the helmet), before walking up to the entrance of the cave and stopping. Nuada had chosen to train just outside, where there was space and yet he was still able to keep an eye on his guest; Loki watched him perform a triple somersault and land lightly, spear trained on an imaginary opponent, before Nuada turned to him, presented his weapon and nodded shortly, the ancestral gesture of respect that very few warriors in Asgard had ever seen fit to give Loki (without prompting, at least).

“Good day,” Nuada said pleasantly, picking up his shirt and approaching Loki with his spear resting on one shoulder. “I hope you had a good night’s rest?”

Loki narrowed his eyes at his host, trying to detect a trace of mockery or pity in his voice, but there seemed to be none.

“Yes, thank you,” he replied in as cold a voice as he could muster, giving a step back when it seemed that Nuada would brush against him as he entered the cave; the elf paused, gave him a questioning look, then continued inside as if nothing had happened. 

Loki waited until Nuada had had a long drink of water before speaking.

“We need to discuss our plans for the future.”

“Hm,” Nuada replied noncommittally, pouring himself more water; he gave Loki a long look, then shrugged. “I daresay we must, yes.”

Silence followed; Loki frowned.

“Well?” asked Nuada. “I thought you wished to discuss something.”

Loki felt his jaw tighten; he wasn’t used to have his bad moods countered by wry pleasantness.

“We cannot stay here. Even if you covered our tracks well, with so many parties searching for us, someone is bound to find us sooner than later.”

“Hm, so many parties, you say…” Nuada ran the tips of his fingers along the rim of his bowl. “I should think that, though it hurts my pride, I must now be rather low in the priorities of the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defence. Surely if I keep a low profile, hunting beasts for their furs in this distant province, the humans will soon forget about me.”

Mocking yellow eyes met Loki’s.

“Yes,” he had to admit. “It’s me who is the priority now in the eyes of Midgardian authorities, but…”

“And others, I should think,” Nuada interrupted him. “Why yes, I do pay attention to what you say. You are being hunted by others than the humans, you said as much yesterday.”

Loki took a calming breath.

“Yes, I am. And even if we part company now, be sure that they will come for you and extract the information of my whereabouts in whatever way they deem necessary.”

Nuada grinned, the gesture of a predator.

“You assume that I would refuse to cooperate with them.”

Loki’s hands curled into fists and he gave a step forwards.

“Ah, ah, ah…” Nuada warned him, the tip of his spear resting on the hollow of Loki’s throat. “Let us not allow this discussion to turn sour. Have a seat.”

For a moment, Loki considered trying to take on the elf; he had been trained in hand-to-hand combat and, though his best skill, the throwing knives, wasn’t suited to the small confines of the cave, neither were Nuada’s acrobatic moves.

“Your head would hit the floor before you even finished making your first move,” Nuada told him pleasantly. “Sit and don’t make me break my vows, I don’t take kindly to it.”

Loki forced himself to grin, give a step back and hold up his hands.

“Far be it for me to make an oathbreaker out of you,” he said, sitting on the edge of one of the boxes; under no circumstances was he going to sit on the floor and put himself even more at the mercy of the elf.

“I appreciate it, as I would appreciate it if you did not try to play me for a fool.” Nuada’s eyes flashed. “I am willing to offer you my assistance, should you need it, as a gesture of thanks for the part you played in my escape from prison… but I will not be your pawn, and I will not allow you to lie to me. So, make your choice, Loki of Asgard: leave now and I will bear you neither ill-will nor gratitude… or stay and be ready to be honest for once in your life.”

 _Leave_ , Loki’s mind hissed. _Leave now, right now, while there’s still the possibility that he will not stab you in the back as you walk out._

Loki stood up, drew his shoulders straight, and looked at the cave entrance.

 _Leave_ , his heart pleaded. _Leave while all you’ve invested are a few centuries of dreams and hopes. Leave while you still haven’t had to drink the dregs of disappointment._

Loki gave two steps forwards. True to his word, Nuada stepped back to let him through.

 _Leave_ , advised experience. _Leave before the inevitable betrayal comes, before your ambition or his get in the way. Leave, you’ve always been better off alone._

Loki gave three steps more and felt the wind on his face.

 _Leave_ , said a small voice he’d tried his best to supress for years. _Leave before your mistakes catch up with you and you drag him down with you._

Loki stopped at the entrance of the cave. Plans swirled through his mind (lying low in Nieflheimr, negotiating a pardon through the BPRD in exchange for Nuada’s location, a last-ditch attempt to recover the Tesseract from the busy Avengers, a glorious but ultimately futile charge against The Other and his master…) and he paused to look back, more than half-expecting to meet the business end of that silver lance.

Nuada stood in the middle of the cave, arms crossed over his chest, watching him leave with such bitter, ancient sadness in his yellow eyes that Loki felt his resolve shatter.

“Damn you!” said Loki, closing his eyes and wishing he’d at least been spared the indignity of hearing his voice shake like that. “Damn you…”

“Oh Loki…” 

When Nuada reached for him, Loki allowed himself to be pulled into his embrace, eyes still closed; he took a deep breath and finally smelled up close the perfume of old leaves and distant spices which had haunted his dreams for years.

“Now,” said Nuada, stepping back, “what do you say we have some proper breakfast?”

***

It turned out the cave was just one hour’s trek away from what Nuada called ‘a mining and hunting town’ and Loki privately deemed the ugliest collection of hovels that had ever been his misfortune to see, let alone visit. But one of those hovels held an inn, run by a tiny goblin woman who not only didn’t bat an eyelid at the two cloaked, armed strangers arriving from nowhere in the middle of the day, but also appeared highly susceptible to Nuada’s brand of old-fashioned chivalry.

Over some surprisingly tasty fried bread and a string of not-quite-partridges filled with herbs, Loki watched and watched some more and finally addressed his companion.

“She knows you from before,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of the innkeeper, who was shrilly demanding payment from a couple of trolls whose hands were bigger than her, but who looked suitably chastised all the same.

“Yes,” Nuada agreed. “I have lived in this town on occasion and have a house here.”

“You have a house here,” Loki said flatly; not that the cave had been uncomfortable, or that the hovels looked to be much better, but…

The corner of Nuada’s lips quirked upwards.

“After two hundred years since I saw you last, you just appeared in my cell, having sunk a whole realm into chaos, and said you were being hunted… are you surprised my first reaction wasn’t taking you to my home?”

Loki reluctantly allowed himself to smile.

“Maybe I am surprised you will take me there now.”

“Are you?” Nuada asked, raising an eyebrow.

The mood was broken by the innkeeper slamming two tankards of… something green and foamy on the table between them. She turned to point at Nuada with one spidery finger, and though the elf looked at ease, Loki felt the fizz of a spell right on the tip of his tongue.

“You fix my clock.”

“I would be delighted, Edna,” Nuada replied, taking a drink of his… whatever it was.

“The mayor’s catapult is broken too.”

“I don’t know how long I will be staying this time, but what I can repair, I will.”

“Hmph.” The goblin glared at Nuada for a moment, then took something from her apron pocket and slid it across from the table at him.

“Edna, you are one of the sweetest fruits that Yggdrasil has ever born and I thank my stars that I had the chance to meet you,” the elf prince said, taking the goblin’s tiny, withered hand in his for a moment, while with the other he slipped the small object into his shirt.

“Hmph!” Then, she shot a quick look at Loki and leant in close to Nuada. “Mr Wink?”

The elf’s face fell and he shook his head, prompting the goblin to make a low, trilling sound of distress and pat his hand comfortingly. Loki pretended to examine his drink, but caught Nuada’s small smile as watched the goblin leaving.

“You really have built a life in this place,” Loki said when they were alone again.

“It is a good place for lying low, and there are many jobs here for someone of my skills. Hunting, repairing machinery, escorting caravans…”

“You could be doing so much more…”

“Or I could be dead or rotting in a gaol somewhere.” Nuada shrugged. “I haven’t survived two millennia in exile by clinging to the trappings of my old life. I know who and what I am, and I’ve never lost sight of my objective. That is enough for me.”

“You deserve better,” Loki told him, sick at the thought of Nuada living in those conditions for more time than he’d been alive.

“My realm deserves better. Yggdrasil deserves better. Me, I’m just a piece in the game.” Nuada looked around the dark room, then met Loki’s eyes again and leant towards him to speak in a low voice. “Yes, of course I would like to live in a palace again, with serfs obeying my every order and my sister on the throne next to mine… but that isn’t what is important. If living for a thousand years as a trapper will help me achieve the objective of cleansing Midgard and restoring Alfheimr, I will do it. There is much to be said for patience.”

“There is much to be said for striking when the time is right, too,” Loki replied, leaning forwards too. “The Nine Realms are teetering on the edge of a massive change and we can be the ones who give it a push in the right direction. We have failed before, both of us, but together… what can’t we achieve, together?”

A moment’s silence, staring at each other from close quarters, then the elf leant back and took a long drink from his tankard.

“You’ve certainly changed your tune since this morning, when it seemed you would rather slit your own throat than accept my help,” he observed.

It was a truthful statement, which is why it bothered Loki the most.

“You don’t trust me,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. “And really, why should you?”

Nuada looked at him for a long moment.

“I trust you enough to bring you into the closest thing I have had to a home since I departed Alfheimr at the end of the Golden War.” The elf stood up. “Come, let’s continue our discussion there.”

The first thing Loki saw after leaving the inn was a Jotun; the Frost Giant was leaning against a cart filled with furs and barrels, massive blue arms crossed over his chest, red eyes glinting dangerously. Loki didn’t even have time to stop and reach for a weapon before Nuada casually put a hand on his waist and led him around the cart, giving a small nod to the Jotun, who returned the gesture distractedly and continued glaring at the inn; as they walked away, Loki heard him mutter something about lunch.

“There is a large group of Frost Giants living here. They are remarkable hunters and find life in Svartálfaheimr easier than in their ravaged homeworld.” Nuada’s voice held a note of condemnation, and Loki wondered whether it was aimed at Odin’s actions, his own, or the Jotuns’. “There is also an elven community on the other side of the lake and several families of Vanir refugees that date back to the Aesir-Vanir war.”

“The dwarves have always held their neutrality as precious as their gems,” Loki said, to steer the conversation away from his own involvement in that sorry mess.

“And rightly so, as they remain now the only realm which can freely commerce with all others. The King, though usually too concerned with his own games, has gotten this right, at least. Even in cursed Midgard you may find Goblin crafts, though not recognised as such… and a good day to you too, Mrs Hal.”

The troll who’d greeted Nuada with a low growl waved a hand the size of Loki’s head as they walked past.

“Your popularity here is impressive,” said Loki, not trying to disguise the mirth in his voice or the smile on his lips.

Nuada threw him a mock glare, then squeezed lightly with the hand that still rested on Loki’s waist.

“Is it?”

Loki gave him a sidelong glance and said nothing; his blood fizzled like it did in the moment before mastering a difficult spell and he was close to stabbing the grey-haired dwarf who stopped Nuada to offer him some of her baking in return for him to give a look at her oven.

By the time they arrived to a small, leaning shack of grey wood located on the outskirts of the village, the weight of Nuada’s hand on his waist seemed to Loki to burn like a brand, even through the layers of leather and metal of his armour.

Nuada again traced a few symbols in the air (which this time Loki took care to memorise) and only then opened the door and motioned Loki inside.

“Welcome, m-…”

Loki whirled around, slammed Nuada against the door (using his small height advantage and the element of surprise for once) and silenced him with a kiss. The elf’s lips tasted of herbal beer and darkness, and he grinned into the kiss before returning it tenfold, his hands tight around Loki’s waist.

“So impatient,” he murmured mockingly when they stopped for air.

“I’ve wanted to do this for over two hundred years,” Loki growled against the elf’s dark lips. “I have been patient.”

Nuada’s expression sobered and he ran one chalk-white finger down the side of Loki’s face, an oddly tender gesture.

“Yes, you have… and you must be patient once again, now. We cannot rest or be at ease until you are not being hunted so relentlessly.”

Loki drew back as if Nuada had slapped him, but the elf’s arm around his waist kept him from going any further. 

“Tell me,” the elf demanded; his fingers, previously so gentle, gripped the back of Loki’s neck. “Tell me the truth and let me help!”

Something snapped inside Loki. No one had offered him help freely –not since Thor, and that had been duty and not love-, and now he found it… now he had to admit it was useless. He had been running and weaving plans to hide the truth from himself, but now he had to face it.

“You can’t help me,” he laughed, desperation bubbling like a fountain in his voice. “I wish, I wish… but there is no time and there is nothing you can do. I’m lost. I made a bad deal and now I must pay for the consequences.”

Nuada’s fingers were gentle against his skin again.

“Tell me,” he repeated.

Loki told him. He told him everything. He told him things that he’d not told anyone else, things he’d shied away from remembering himself. He sat by the hearth while Nuada lit the fire and put the small house to rights, and spoke and spoke and spoke until his throat went dry and his voice was raspy; then, he drank the water Nuada gave him and spoke some more.

When he was done, Loki felt as drained as he’d had after the fall. He looked at his hands, as if unsure if they belonged to him, then looked around the small, dark room they were in; there were faded Elvish tapestries on the walls and a shelf full of books that under any other circumstances he would have loved to examine. 

There was Nuada, watching him. Loki wondered if he’d kill him outright, if he’d sell him out to The Other (was Loki’s traitorous self worth enough to save Alfheimr?) or if he’d be merciful and just turn him out and let him fend for himself, let him try to run from his inevitable downfall.

The elf sat cross-legged in front of him and reached out to take Loki’s hand in his own.

“It’s worse than I expected,” Nuada admitted. “You are right, they will probably find us at some point. And we are not strong enough to face them.”

And yet, he was still holding Loki’s hand.

“What we need,” Nuada said after a moment’s reflection, “are either allies or a source of power. Both would be ideal, but unlikely to happen.”

Loki stared, his hand slack in Nuada’s own.

“… you’ll help me?”

The elf looked surprised at the question, then sad.

“I said I would. And besides, that threat is not just a threat to you, but to all Nine Realms. No warrior were I, and indeed no prince, if I didn’t take action against it. Now, what resources do we have?”

Loki, still dizzy with surprise, said nothing.

“Your magic, my spear… probably a couple of days’ advantage over your pursuers, if not more. Little to worry from the Midgardians, considering what a state their realm is in. Can we expect any help from Asgard?”

“They wouldn’t believe me,” Loki said, and didn’t say that he wouldn’t ask them anyway.

“And nothing from what’s left of Alfheimr either… nor Muspellsheimr, nor Svartálfaheimr… here we can take refuge, but little more.” The elf prince snorted. “We don’t have much, do we?”

Loki squeezed his hand and tried to push his mind out of the endless loop of _he will help me, he will help me, he will help me_ enough to contribute to the conversation.

“The Golden Army?”

Nuada shook his head.

“My sister was told the crown was destroyed.” Loki narrowed his eyes at this carefully-worded statement, and Nuada graced him with a half-smile. “It hasn’t, of course, but it has been put well out of my reach and yours, too, I believe. We would not reach it in the time we have.”

Loki accepted this with a nod.

“How about… whatever it was you arrived in Midgard to find? I was not given details, of course, but as a source of power, it seemed impressive.”

“The Tesseract, yes.” Loki considered the plan for its recovery again, this time factoring in Nuada’s contribution. “A wondrous source of power, and unfortunately the very thing our enemies seek.” He looked up to see Nuada’s reaction to that carefully spoken ‘our’, but the elf just nodded soberly. “It would call their attention to us more than it would help us, at least at first.”

Nuada made a grimace and looked around himself, an unhappy frown settling on his brow. 

“A source of power and allies, you said,” mused Loki. “But who said that we should have to fight this fight ourselves?”

Yellow eyes met green.

“I have a feeling I’m not going to like your plan.”

Loki just grinned.


	3. Strike

Tony Stark had deep, dark shadows under his eyes and his hair stood up in all directions like a grumpy hedgehog; his workshop was silent and mostly dark around him and he was staring at a lighted display with the glazed look of the completely exhausted.

“Stark.”

The man jumped up and automatically reached for something on the desk in front of him. His hand, however, met only the sharp edge of a silver lance.

“Relax,” Loki said. “I only want to talk to you.”

“Talk, right.” Stark whirled around, trying to keep both Loki and Nuada in his line of sight; Loki was tempted to invoke a few illusions to confuse him further, but refrained. “Like our last chat, that ended up with you throwing me out of a window?”

“You didn’t hit the ground, did you?” smirked Loki; Nuada, in silence, made sure to always be just behind Stark, no matter which way he turned.

“No thanks to you!”

Loki chuckled. Nuada rested the edge of a knife on Stark’s throat, making the man freeze at once.

“Turn off that countdown alarm,” said the elf.

“I don’t know what you’re…”

“They had them where I was imprisoned, too. You have twenty five seconds. Turn it off or I’ll slit your throat like a pig’s and watch you bleed out before we leave.”

Loki grinned at the bug-eyed Stark.

“He would, you know?” he confided, all mock sympathy.

“JARVIS, power down the alarm, move all surveillance cameras and audio feeds to my servers, and feed SHIELD something to keep them quiet.”

“Yes, sir.”

One of the blinking lights on the console in front of which Stark had been sitting when they arrived went off. Nuada took the knife away and gave a step back, giving at once the impression of being supremely bored and extremely alert; he didn’t even react when Stark turned around and gave him a once-over.

“And I thought you wore leather well,” the mortal told Loki in an exaggerated whisper, even though his pulse was visibly pounding on his throat. “So, you’re the good cop in this routine?”

In spite of himself, Loki smiled; he liked Stark’s suicidal arrogance.

“I can be.” He took a seat on the edge of a desk, let Nuada prowl behind Stark. “I come to offer you a deal.”

“No,” Stark said at once. “No, you fucking bastard. Do you know what you’ve done? Do you know how many people died because of your last prank? The people in hospitals, the planes, the…?!” The man stopped and gave Loki a dark look. “And don’t try to argue that you also powered down Doom and his robots, because that doesn’t even begin to make up for it.”

Loki made a mental note to investigate about this Doom he had apparently helped vanquish; the threat that had kept SHIELD busy before his escape, he assumed.

“It’s not the time for pride, Stark.”

“What would you know about that?” the man muttered.

“It’s not the time for pride,” Loki repeated, leaning forwards a little and lowering his voice; in spite of himself, Stark moved closer to listen. “You saw, Stark. You are the only mortal who saw what was behind that portal. You are the only one who knows what’s coming.”

Their eyes met; the mortal’s looked wary, haunted, and Loki let some of his own fear shine through.

“It’s coming for you,” Stark whispered.

“Yes,” Loki said in the same tone. “But first, it wants the Tesseract. I can hide, but can you hide something so powerful? I can feel it from here, you know, no matter behind how many doors you try to lock it.”

Stark’s eyes were still wary.

“It needed you to open the portal first, it can’t just pop in for a visit… like you can, apparently.”

“The way was opened once already, how hard do you think it will be to do it again? Do you think I am the only one willing to enter a deal with it, Stark? Look around you, are you in any shape to withstand a second, more knowledgeable invasion?”

Stark gave Loki a look that tried hard to seem unimpressed.

“You can’t stop it.”

“No,” admitted Loki. “And maybe you and your friends can’t either. But you’ll stand a better chance if you know what you’re facing.”

“You just want us to fight your battles for you.”

“Or you can wait until I’ve been captured and have told everything I know about Earth.” Loki stopped by a miniature representation of Midgard, all lit up, and pressed his finger against it; obediently, it went dark. “Everything.”

“You would, wouldn’t you, you fucking bastard?”

Loki shrugged.

“So, you’re offering to spill everything on your former boss in exchange for being pardoned? I don’t know…”

Loki interrupted him with a laugh.

“Pardoned? Why would I want your silly mortal pardons? What I want in exchange for my help is the Tesseract.”

It was time for Tony to laugh.

“No,” he said with a big smile.

“Yes,” replied Loki, equally pleasantly. “It is not yours, Stark, and you can’t control it. The dream of using it to give humanity endless power is just that, a dream. You will do better sticking to your own methods… if something will save this realm from its nightmare of filth and waste, it’s more likely to be the lights you are using on this tower and not a stolen treasure.”

Stark frowned and narrowed his eyes at Loki; behind him, Nuada did exactly the same.

“It must be the sleep deprivation talking, I’m almost sure you just gave me a compliment,” muttered Stark, looking away and running his hands through his hair. “You do know I don’t have the Tesseract, don’t you? Fury won’t even let me look at it.”

“I’m sure that, if you try, you can find a way I can help myself to it.”

Stark seemed to actually be considering the matter.

“One more thing,” he said after a moment.

“You want to haggle?” demanded Loki.

“Hey, Scrooge, you’re the one who came here to negotiate a deal…” Loki frowned, but Stark was approaching him, carrying between his hands the miniature figure of Midgard. “Tell me how you did this.”

Loki stared at him.

“Come on,” Stark cajoled him, sending the sphere floating through the air in his direction. “It was fucking impressive, is that what you want to hear? Tell me how you did it.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“Does this mean you’ll take the deal?”

Stark sighed and a bitter, worn-out expression stole over his face for a moment.

“If any of us are alive after that battle, sure. You can take the Tesseract, I’ll even gift-wrap it for you… it’s not like we can use it, the only thing it’s done for us is bring you here and, no offence, but let’s not do that again.”

Loki narrowed his eyes at him, but he couldn’t taste the sickly sweet flavour of a lie in the air.

“You give me your word?”

“You’re giving me yours? I’ll even pinky swear, look.”

Loki looked at Stark’s outstretched finger and nodded, but didn’t return the gesture.

“Very well.”

“Loki!” boomed a well-known voice.

“Jesus, Thor, has anyone ever told you you have terrible timing?!” Stark exclaimed.

_All the time_ , Loki wanted to say, but instead chose to glare at Stark.

“What?” the mortal demanded to know. “You just turn up in here and expected me to do nothing? How was I supposed to know you were going to be reasonable instead of throwing me out of the window? Besides, I’m a sucker for a good family reunion…”

“Tony Stark, are you well?” asked Thor, having finished bounding down the stairs. “Loki…”

“Not so fast, my prince.” Nuada stepped from besides the doorway and lifted his spear in front of Thor. “Stand back, if you please. I have no quarrel with you, but I will if you give one more step.”

Thor’s grip around Mjolnir tightened as he turned to look at the black-clad elf.

“Who are you, stranger, and why do you think you can keep me from my brother?”

“I am Nuada Silverlance, head of Clan Bethmoora, and Loki of Asgard is under my protection. Stand back, Thor Odinson, for I would not deprive Asgard of both its princes.”

“Fuck, that’s hot,” murmured Stark; silently, Loki agreed.

Thor gave Loki a quick glance.

“Loki? Is this true?” In view of Loki’s silence, he shook his head. “Listen, brother, whatever he’s told you… you have to come home with me. Please. Tony Stark says he managed to contain the Tesseract enough to get us home. Return with me.”

“My solution is completely theoretical and with only a thirty per cent chance you’ll end up squished into a black hole or something,” the man in question qualified.

“I don’t have to do anything,” Loki hissed at the man who’d been his brother. “Least of all go to what’s no longer my home.”

He turned his back on Thor purposefully and focused his attention on the lighted sphere floating in front of him.

“Now, listen, Stark…”

“Are you going to leave him like that?” Stark asked in a low voice, tilting his head in the direction of the doorway. “He’s terrible at taking ‘no’ for an answer and he’s been training with the Hulk… your kinky bodyguard is going to be in trouble.”

Loki snorted.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You’re really going to do nothing?” Stark sighed and raised his voice. “Thor, can you at least try not to break anything import-… oh, never mind.”

Nuada effortlessly avoided Mjolnir’s path and smacked Thor on the back of the neck with the hilt of his lance; the hammer connected with a row of monitors amidst a shower of glass and sparks.

“If we’re doing this now, better make it fast, someone upstairs is going to hear the noise…” said Stark.

“Look, Stark. What do you see?”

The man reluctantly turned away from the sight of Nuada tripping Thor into some expensive equipment.

“I see you, holding a small scale model of the electrical network you royally fucked up apparently by sneezing.”

Loki smiled thinly.

“Well, this might take less time than I expected. Well done, Stark. A network. Surely you see it?” Loki let go of the sphere and it grew wider, a delicate tracery of blue light; the desk besides them shook as Thor’s head slammed into it.

“Remind me I need to stock up on aspirin… you do know that’s not a real network, don’t you? I mean, yes, lots of things are connected together, but you can’t just blow up a generator in New York and make a plane crash over the Pacific because all controls and engines went offline… whoa!”

Nuada somersaulted neatly over their heads, Mjolnir trailing behind him.

“It is a real network,” said Loki. “Not the one you’ve built with wires and metal, but the one that has grown around it, like a vine around its trellis, thanks to so much power… you can’t see it, can’t touch it, and I’d be very surprised if you could even measure it, but it’s there.”

“And you can see it,” said Stark, the tilt of his eyebrows conveying the full extent of his disbelief.

“I can see it, and so can everyone attuned to magical energies. It’s the reason so many magical creatures have left Midgard or find it so objectionable.” Loki’s gaze wandered to Nuada, who was grinning breathlessly at Thor’s narrow-eyed glare; Tony followed his gaze thoughtfully, then returned to the matter at hand.

“So, you just tapped into that magical mumbo-jumbo network and did what?”

“Fed it more power than it could handle.”

“But not enough to break it.” Stark ducked as a fire extinguisher went flying past his head. “DUM-E, stay out of it, will you? They’re good at breaking things, they don’t need your help… you don’t have enough power to break it for good, then.”

Loki shrugged.

“But, with the Tesseract…” The mortal gave him a suspicious look.

“Don’t even think of backing out of the deal now, Stark. I will find you and I will make you comply.” Loki swallowed, hard, at the echo of The Other’s words in his own. “Besides, I’m not interested in your sad, magicless little realm.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Stark mumbled. “You know, that was the least useful explanation I have ever gotten about anything, and I have had more meetings that I can remember with both lawyers and marketing people…”

“I promised an explanation, not a solution,” said Loki with a smirk. “I hope you weren’t very attached to that glossy monolith in the corner.”

“Fuck it, Thor, that was a state-of-the-art file-storage unit! Do you know how many terabytes…? JARVIS, tell me you backed up everything.”

“Yes, sir. May I add, sir, that while Miss Romanoff and Mr Barton are out of SHIELD business, and Mr Banner is in his room, Mr Rogers has entered the building thirty seconds ago and is on the elevator?”

“Shit, Uncle Steve is going to hear the noise and come down to check… Loki, can you get them to be quiet? It’s you they’re fighting over, after all.”

Loki hesitated. He highly doubted Nuada would take well to him interrupting a challenge; the Norns knew Thor had hated it in the past, no matter how right Loki had been in intervening. But he felt Stark looking at him, and so cleared his throat and gave a step forwards.

“Give up, Thor,” he said in his most authoritative tone. “Nuada and I need to leave.”

Thor didn’t look up (too busy shaking glass shards from his hands), but Nuada met Loki’s eyes and nodded.

“Fuck me, I have got to get me one of those,” said Stark. “I haven’t been so jealous of someone’s bodyguard since I met Gaddafi.”

Loki didn’t grasp the reference, but Stark’s tone was clear enough to make him frown. He was spared the need to answer by Nuada cleanly sweeping Thor’s feet from under him and then landing in a crouch on the Asgardian’s chest, the tip of his lance on Thor’s exposed throat.

“Thor Odinson, I have defeated you in a contest of skill. This lance was forged by dwarves many millennia before you were born, and it will deal death even to those who Death usually ignores. I do not wish your demise, so yield and we will take our leave.”

“No. Kill me, if you must” said Thor, stretching his bloodied fingers in preparation for summoning Mjolnir. “I will not leave without my brother. I cannot.”

The elf’s face softened; he remembered another prince speaking similar words in a similar context.

“Think of your realm,” he advised in a low voice. “Your father needs you.”

“You do not understand!” roared Thor, still pinned under the elf’s weapon.

The elf threw his head back and laughed, then leant in close to Thor’s face, the tip of his lance unwavering on his throat.

“I do not understand?” he whispered. “I was a king’s golden heir long before you were born, princeling. I was defending my realm when your father still had both eyes and no quarrel that he had not looked for himself.” Thor stared, transfixed by burning yellow eyes, Mjolnir forgotten. “I do not understand? I have fought, lied, bled and risked my life to keep my sister safe. My voice has grown hoarse from pleading with her to see reason. I have hurt her, and it has only hurt me a thousandfold more. I bear the scars that she has given me, and watch her from afar because she will not allow me to stand by her side. I do not understand? If anyone in the whole of the Nine Realms can understand, it is me.”

Beads of blood welled up in Thor’s throat. Nuada stared into his eyes for a long moment.

“I give you my word that I will do everything in my power to keep Loki safe.”

The elf jumped off Thor’s chest as lightly as if he were on a dance floor and turned to Loki.

“Well?”

Loki frowned at Thor, who stayed still though Nuada hadn’t slit his throat, then reached out to the elf and pulled him close while he summoned his magic.

When Steve reached the foot of the stairs, he found Tony sitting on the edge of a desk with his head between his hands, Thor lying on his back on the floor -hand over his throat and eyes fixed on the ceiling- and DUM-E running in circles in a corner, waving an empty fire extinguisher.

“Oh look, honey, the baby sitter’s here!” said Tony brightly, looking up.

“What on Earth happened?” asked Steve, looking at the wholesale destruction of half of the place.

“I was running some tests on the neighbourhood’s friendly Thunder God and things got a little out of hand… don’t worry, the workshop was due for an upgrade anyway.” Tony made his way between the debris to where Thor lay. “Hey there, big guy, alright? Up we go, about time we had some coffee and pop tarts, don’t you think?”

“Tony…” said Steve, while Thor got to his feet slowly, in silence.

“Come on, Cap, you’re not going to deprive an honest man out of coffee and pop tarts, are you? I haven’t slept in days, and I don’t remember when was the last time I ate, and Point Break here needs a rest from having the lab explode all around him… come on, up, up, up, let’s get your mother-henning away from ground zero…”

By the time Tony, Steve and a heavy-footed Thor had reached the top of the stairs and left the wreckage of the workshop behind, Loki and Nuada were settling into a small nook in a deserted portion of the Troll Market.

Before they’d left Svartálfaheimr, Nuada had packed for a long absence and shared with Loki a list of his hide-outs, since they’d agreed that it wouldn’t do to return to somewhere any of their numerous pursuers might have tracked them to. Loki didn’t flatter himself that the elf prince had revealed all his secrets, but as he looked at their cramped quarters (a literal hole in the wall, leading to an abandoned coal cellar furnished with a rolled-up mattress and little else), he felt a small glow of satisfaction: this was a secret he hadn’t had to fight for, hadn’t had to lie and con to discover, but that had been offered to him freely.

“I can weave some enchantments around the place… not loud enough to get us noticed, but enough to warn us if someone approaches,” he said.

“Do as you think wise.”

Nuada said nothing while Loki wound an almost invisible thread of magic around the nook, paying more attention to the entrance but including walls, roof and floor, but when Loki was done, he offered him a small smile and a place in the circle of his arms.

“I will keep guard tonight,” the elf murmured. “Rest.”

Loki hesitated for a second (Nuada’s display versus Thor had inspired in him a lot of feelings, of which the fear of being stabbed was not the lesser), but Nuada waited patiently until he made up his mind and moved to rest his head on the elf’s shoulder; his bone-white fingers started to smooth Loki’s hair away from his face at once.

“What did you say to Thor?” asked Loki after a while, voice soft.

Nuada’s fingers paused; Loki waited, holding his breath, ready to taste the sickly sweetness of a lie in the air.

“I tried to make him understand,” Nuada answered after a while. “Understand that he is not alone. Understand that you are not alone, either.”

“Because you are Nuada Silverlance, head of Clan Bethmoora, and I am under your protection?” asked Loki, but the playful tone he had meant to give his question fell flat and lacked bite.

“Yes, I am and you are.”

The air tasted clean and cold, and Loki didn’t quite know what to say.

In the past, he’d always resented when Thor tried to establish himself as his protector, seeing it as his brother admitting Loki couldn’t take care of himself… but Nuada’s statement didn’t have that patronising undertone. Nuada, who listened and followed Loki’s plans; Nuada, who trusted him to broker the deals that would affect them both; Nuada, who believed in the security provided by Loki’s wards enough to let go of his silver lance.

“Do you think the mortal will uphold his end of the deal?” asked the elf, his voice a low rumble where Loki’s ear was pressed against his chest.

“No,” Loki shrugged as best as he could. “But he will defend his realm with all he is and all he has. If he and his fellow Avengers can stop… or even just slow down… disaster, that will be enough. And, if not, we’ll have the consolation of knowing that Midgard will be razed to the ground and its poison will die with it.”

Nuada made a low sound of agreement and resumed his smoothing of Loki’s hair. In the distance, they could hear trolls roaring a drinking song, but Loki had seldom felt so peaceful; when morning came, they’d have to leave again: Loki would have to focus on the web of lies and truths necessary to steer Stark (and, by extension, the Avengers) in the right direction while Nuada kept them free and alive, but for what was left of the evening, they could be at peace.

“You can sleep, if you want,” he offered. “I am well-rested and can keep guard tonight.”

Nuada didn’t answer for a moment that felt eternal to Loki.

“Thank you,” he said cautiously, in a tone that Loki recognised from his own voice, so unused to accepting certain offers. “I will.”

In silence, somewhat awkwardly, they negotiated limbs and armour and weapons until Loki was sitting up, his back resting against the brick wall, facing the entrance, and Nuada was curled up on the mattress with his head on Loki’s lap and his lance well within reach.

“Sleep,” sing-songed Loki. “Sleep a little and be blessed, noble Nuada of Clan Bethmoora, to whom I have given my word, for I shall watch over you…”

The elf let out a soft snort of amusement, but as Loki’s fingers carded through his hair, he fell asleep, with someone he trusted to watch his back for the first time in centuries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be too harsh on Tony; Nuada turned up dressed in something [like this](http://dfotw.tumblr.com/post/24421809456/prince-nuada-silverlance-in-all-black-leather).


	4. The Right Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set a bit over a year after the end of Chapter 3.

When Captain America, wounded and alone amidst his fallen comrades, shattered with a well-placed throw of his shield the Soul Gem around Thanos’ throat before falling to his knees, Nuada made a vaguely impressed noise.

“What a worthy champion he’d be, if he had a worthy realm to fight for.”

Loki was too busy watching between the smoke for signs that it had all been a decoy to answer. At last he was satisfied that it had not been, that the Captain’s attack had been a true one, and he looked up from the placid pool on which they were scrying the battle for Midgard; Nuada, sitting on the shade of a small tree, returned his gaze calmly.

“Shall we?”

It was the work of a moment to hop between realms and arrive at the ruined building where the Midgardians’ last stand had taken place; they watched from the shadows for a moment, to make sure that everything was as it seemed to be, then stepped forwards.

Black Widow, who’d looked to be either unconscious or dead, managed to roll on her stomach and aim her gun at them.

“Oh please,” said Loki, not stopping. “You ran out of bullets twenty minutes ago, and I assure you I don’t intend to do anything that merits you throwing that thing at me.”

“The archer lives,” announced Nuada, his timing impeccable as always; he tossed aside a slab of concrete taller than him and made a face at what he found underneath. “He will need the services of a bone-setter, but he lives.”

Loki went to give a look (yes, definitely a good healer would be required and even then, he highly doubted the man’s right leg would ever be the same) and then, sweeping past Black Widow’s attempts to stand on what looked like a broken ankle, he moved to where the battered red and gold of Iron Man’s suit could be seen amongst the rubble.

Such a waste… his hands made quick work of the metal mask, and Stark let out a small croak that might have been a cough if only his chestplate weren’t bent so oddly.

“Please tell me nob-… actually no, I’m alright with you having kissed me. Did you?”

Loki smirked and let the mortal’s head on the floor again, in spite of his offended squeak of, ‘Hey! Did we win this time too?’.

In the centre of what might have once been a hall stood Nuada, a very familiar shield in his hand; he approached Captain America and stopped by his side. For a moment, Loki shared Black Widow’s uncertainty, but then the elf prince knelt by the fallen soldier and placed the shield by its owner’s bloodied hand.

“You are a brave one, mortal,” he said, when the Captain turned to look at him. “If I must one day kill you, let it be a fair contest.”

“Thank you?” Rogers answered, trying unsuccessfully to stand up. “Wait, where’s Thor?”

“The oaf managed to get himself captured.” Loki rolled his eyes; he absolutely hadn’t had any part at all in that, of course. “It takes a strong magic to keep him from summoning Mjolnir. Soon, he will notice that magic is gone and he will happily break his way out.”

“And Bruce?” asked Black Widow from where she was checking on Barton.

“Smashing,” said Loki, and his lips twitched at his own joke; he still hadn’t quite forgiven the beast’s role in his capture. “I have no doubt at some point he will run out of Chitauri to smash and he will come back.”

“Can someone help me up? The pneumatics are all blown, I feel like an upturned turtle…”

Both Nuada and Loki ignored Stark, one moving to look through a hole blown in a wall, the other going to study the machine the Avengers had used to tether Thanos in place.

“What are you doing?” asked Rogers when Loki pushed a series of buttons and stood back.

“Taking back what’s mine. Really, you should be grateful I’m taking this away before you blow yourselves and the whole realm up by trying to use it… so clumsy.”

“You can’t do that,” the Captain said, though he was at the moment incapable of so much as stopping a kitten from licking its nose.

“Can’t I?” Loki smirked. “Tell them, Stark.”

“Tell them? Tell them what? There is nothing to tell. I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Stark from where he was lying, immobilised by his broken suit. “And Cap, you can stop glaring at me any time now, I can feel it through the suit.”

Loki chuckled as he slid the Tesseract into the metal container Nuada held for him.

“They are coming,” said the elf.

“Your sister?”

“Not quite.”

“Aw crap, you didn’t. There was a bar here and I had plans to visit…”

Loki gave a cautious look at the big red demon, then at Nuada, who had moved to stand slightly in front of him, one hand holding the case with the Tesseract, the other one gripping his lance; in case diplomacy didn’t work against the demon’s massive gun, Loki took a hold of the other handle of the Tesseract case and started gathering his magic around him.

“You coming with us, pretty boy? Your sister wants to have you over for dinner.”

“I’m afraid I must decline.” The tip of Nuada’s lance followed the demon’s pacing. “But do tell her she is welcome to visit me at any time.”

Hellboy snorted loudly.

“So, did you or your boyfriend have anything to do with all this? I only heard something about the end of the world, supernatural entity, blah, blah, but that’s just the same as every other day ending in ‘y’… hey, is that Captain America?”

“No, Loki and I were not present for anything that happened here. And we must, in fact, leave now.”

Taking his cue, Loki began to weave a spell around them and the Tesseract case; travelling with it and trying not to leave traces of their passing was going to be much harder than their usual realm-hopping trips.

“That true?” the demon asked Black Widow, who nodded jerkily. “Damn… well, I guess as long as you’re not blowing up things in my joint, I can pretend I didn’t see you. Try to return the favour someday, will ya?”

Loki could hear the tension in Nuada’s voice when he answered.

“One day, we will settle our accounts. But not today.”

“You know where to find me…”

Loki hurried to finish the enchantment before the palpable tension broke.

“Congratulations on the birth of your children.” Nuada’s voice was as venomous as it was polite. “Do ask my sister to tell you what some of the ancient manuscripts have to say about their birth.”

“Now, listen, you pasty bastard, you leave them and Liz out of this!”

Ignoring the massive gun pointed in his direction, Nuada turned to look behind the demon’s shoulder.

“And John…” One of the agents behind the demon startled visibly and blushed up to his ears. “I believe that someone over there would be glad for your assistance.”

The man obediently scurried away in the direction Nuada had pointed, ignoring the disapproving looks of his fellow agents.

“Tony Stark?!” Loki heard him ask, his voice reaching a pitch of juvenile excitement that didn’t befit a man with a gun.

“Oh my God, how old are you?” Stark said. “Natasha, look at this, he has dimples. Are we really so hard up we’re sending out the interns? You know what, help me get out of this suit before I’m forced to ask you if you’re legal… fuck, watch the ribs…”

Stark’s babbling faded away alongside Midgard and was replaced with the mournful calls of the whippoorwills and the view of a small, dark cave with only three wooden boxes for furniture.

Loki and Nuada stared at each other over the Tesseract they both held, tense as they waited for an ambush or someone to have followed them, but there was only silence.

Only silence, the thundering beating of Loki’s heart, and the humming of the Tesseract in its metal case, ready to be bent to their will.

Loki laughed breathlessly and looked up to see Nuada’s eyes sparkle.

“And so it begins…” said the elf.

“First Alfheimr,” whispered Loki. “Then Midgard. Then…”

“Yggdrasil is ours,” the elf whispered back.

Still holding onto the Tesseract with white-knuckled strength, Loki leant in and kissed the predatory grin off the elf’s dark lips, tasting magic and victory and hope, flavours he’d thought beyond his reach after the fall from the Bifrost.

“Yggdrasil is ours,” he repeated. “Yes, it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da!
> 
> This is the conclusion of the epic Hellboy/Avengers crossover that grabbed my brain late one evening and hasn't stopped nibbling on it yet. I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> There will, in all likelihood, be a short epilogue from Nuada's PoV, informally known as 'Part IV' or 'dfotw doesn't know when to let go'.
> 
> Feedback, constructive criticism and hugs are welcome!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [For I Shall Watch Over You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4038253) by [alby_mangroves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/pseuds/alby_mangroves)




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